


Practice Make Perfect

by BewareTheIdes15



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Sibling Incest, Telekinesis, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-01
Updated: 2011-07-01
Packaged: 2017-10-20 22:25:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/217739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BewareTheIdes15/pseuds/BewareTheIdes15
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's hand twitched when Dean drew a stripe with holy water down the back of it, but there was no steam, no hissing. It was just wet. It was just Sam. Tension he hadn't realized he'd been holding released in a rush and he felt like his whole body went lax.  Which just made it fucking hurt more when the wall slammed into him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Practice Make Perfect

  
It started like this:

  
Dean smirked as he watched his baby brother systematically destroy every soda can, coffee cup and fast food container in the room; it would be a lot fucking easier if Sam would just wipe that constipated look off his face and pick shit up with his hands. Ok, so Dean was being petty, he was entitled to be petty when his little brother was practicing his freaky DEMON powers, which he should totally not be doing - which he knows because Dean told him so, not like he ever fucking listens. Ok, so Dean was being petty and rambling. Whatever.

  
He and Sam had been in the middle of The Argument That Wouldn't End about this whole powers thing for goddamn weeks before Dean had discovered Sammy was sneaking around and practicing behind his back. So now he was standing watch while Sam ripped apart every worthless piece of crap he could find trying to lift things up with his mind and hold them there; because Dean might not like the fucking powers, but he was sure as hell going to be there to make sure Sam didn't blow himself up with them.

  
The cheap motel pen they'd found in the desk exploded spectacularly in a spray of blue ink and rammed itself through the drywall. If this was Sammy after practicing, Dean seriously didn't want him using that shit on a hunt - probably blow both of their goddamned heads off by accident.

  
Sam flopped over onto his bed with a hopeless groan that Dean knew by heart. He was not going to say 'I told you so' - even though he had. A lot. He might smirk a little though.

  
He sat down next to his forlorn brother, slipping a comforting hand up the hem of Sam's shirt to draw little circles on the small of Sam's back with his thumb; because that's what he'd always done when they were younger and not at all because Sam's skin felt so soft and warm and right under his palm.

  
Sam rolled over onto his back, looking up at Dean and accidentally forcing Dean's hand to rest low on his stomach. Dean would move any second now, once his stupid rebellious hand started listening to him again. Sam smiled in a way that didn't touch his eyes, a little splotch of blue ink catching Dean's notice right at the edge of Sam's dimple. There would really be no good excuse to lean down and lick at it, so Dean stayed put, even if his mind didn't.

  
He suddenly realized that neither of them had said anything in like, a really long time now and he should probably do something about that because Sam was feeling bad and... No! Bad hand!

  
Dean jerked his fingers away from where they had, at some point, started playing at the baby-soft skin just peeking out from Sammy's loose jeans. How the hell could his skin be that soft? Probably used some kind of 'moisturizer', like a girl. Dean made a mental note to check baby brother's duffle for teasing fodder later - after Sam stopped staring at him like a he'd lost his mind.

  
Dean slid the fingers he'd just unceremoniously pulled away from Sam's body into his hair like that was what he'd meant to do all along. Sammy was giving him this thoughtful look like he was seeing right through Dean and he really just wished the floor would open up and swallow him so he wouldn't have to look into those hazel eyes anymore.

  
He was about to make some kind of joke about Sam's power-tardedness to break the tension when he felt at tug at his jeans. He looked down to see the button hanging open like his damn pants had read his sick little mind. His eyes shot up to Sam who was looking back at him blandly, but Dean would almost swear he caught a glint in his brother’s eyes.

  
Before he could open his mouth to say something about it - not that he had a clue what to say anyway - Sam had rolled that long body of his off the bed and was moving to go rinse off ink stains in the bathroom.

  
That was how it started.

  
If Dean maybe noticed over the next few weeks that his shirt buttons always seemed to be undone or his fly kept coming down, he didn't say anything. After all, it couldn't be Sam; he'd been watching his brother 'practice' almost every night and the kid still fucking sucked - oh God, don't go there - there was no way Sammy could pull off something that fine tuned. And besides, why would Sam want to anyway? It wasn't like HE was the one with a sick fetish for his sibling - no that was all Dean.

  
Of course, the little question marks did start popping up in his brain the morning he woke up with the covers thrown back, his boxers pulled down below the curve of his ass. When it happened the next morning too, he was starting to worry. Maybe there was something supernatural going on. Like maybe they were being haunted... by a ghost that hated buttons and really liked his ass. He'd heard of weirder shit.

  
Whatever Sammy had to say about the matter - and he had to know something was up because, hell, he always woke up first and there was no way he'd missed Dean laying there bare-assed for a couple hours. He could have at least tried to cover him up a little - he wasn't saying. In fact, he was walking around like everything was fine and fucking dandy which was maybe even scarier that the haunting idea. Maybe Sam was possessed?

  
That night he stayed out late, way later than he usually did because he hated leaving Sammy alone. But tonight, he needed to make sure Sam would be asleep by the time he got back.

  
He crept into the room quietly; wincing at every creak of the overworked motel hinges as he shut the door behind him and plunged the room into black. He'd painted a devil's trap under Sam's bed earlier just in case, but there was no point in taking chances if he didn't have to. Also he could do without all the bitching he knew he'd catch from Sam if it turned out this was all in his head.

  
Dean dipped his finger into the flask of holy water as he knelt next to Sammy's bed. His brother was puffing out the heavy even breaths of deep sleep and a part of him longed to just watch his little brother's face, for once without the lines of strain and worry cutting through it, but not now. There would be time later, once he knew for sure Sam was safe.

  
Sam's hand twitched when Dean drew a stripe with his wet finger down the back of it, but there was no steam, no hissing. It was just wet. It was just Sam. Tension he hadn't realized he'd been holding released in a rush and he felt like his whole body went lax.

  
Which just made it fucking hurt more when the wall slammed into him.

  
The wall slammed into him? He slammed into the wall. That made more sense, except for that part where it didn't make any kind of fucking sense at all. And yet, there he was, pinned to the wall in front of his baby brother's bed by some unseen force as Sam slowly sat up. Dean's eyes twinged painfully when the lamp flicked on. The lamp across the room - with fucking nobody standing next to it. What the hell was going on.

  
Sam's smile was smoky and half-lidded and just all wrong and way too weirdly hot given the situation.

  
"Christo!" Dean spat at the thing inside Sammy.

  
His little brother's big body - holy shit he was fucking naked! Don't look! Don't look! Seriously don't look, because a hard on would be a bad fucking thing right now - crawled down to the end of the bed and just sat there, legs spread, everything on full display for Dean. Ok, yeah, he looked. He so looked. And Sammy's dick didn't seem to be minding the attention either. So fucking wrong.

  
"I'm not a demon, Dean," Sam voice purred out and there was no way the real Sam could sound so... so fucking pornographic - even if that was exactly what he sounded like in Dean's shower-time fantasies.

  
"Like hell," he shot back, struggling against whatever force was holding him to the wall. The pressure changed and suddenly his arms were being spread out at his sides, his legs pushed apart and no he was not panicking even one teeny tiny little bit regardless of the sweat beading up on his forehead.

  
"Dean, it's me." Sam flipped his hair out of his eyes, giving Dean the Puppy Dog Look of Doom and maybe...

  
"Sammy?" he hated how hopeful he sounded.

  
"I swear," Sam crossed an 'x' over his heart with his finger and grinned up at Dean, all of six years old for a second.

  
Dean's muscles turned to jelly again, even though his limbs were still held rigidly in place. Speaking of -

  
"What the hell, Sam?! What's all this shit?" he tossed his head - which he could thankfully still move - to indicate his unwilling spread eagle. Sam's grin went downright feral and maybe he'd been wrong about that being Sammy after all.

  
"I figured it out, the powers" Sam said, leaning back on his elbows. His cock was steadily curving up toward his belly, already dark and heavy with blood. Dean mouth went wet and he couldn't help but watch it, mesmerized.

  
"See," Sam continued, eyes catching where Dean's had wandered to, "the trick is, all you've got to do is want something, and then let yourself have it."

  
Dean could fucking feel the weight of Sam's gaze as it slid over his body like a caress. Except, he actually COULD feel it, a pressure like big hands roving over his clothes; could feel the heat of them pressing into his skin and beginning to pop the buttons on his overshirt one by one.

  
"No," he swallowed back the thick lump that had formed in his throat, "No way. I've watched you practice. You suck, dude!"

  
Sam's grin just widened.

  
"Maybe later," he chuckled, but Dean hadn't missed the way his brother's dick had twitched or how the head had suddenly gone slick - it was hard to miss when his eyes seemed to be glued right to it like they were magnetized.

  
Dean's button-up was hanging open at his sides and the collar of his t-shirt pulled away from his body. He watched as a small split began in the fabric and felt the rush of cool air against his skin as it ripped all the way down to the hem.

  
"Sam what're you-" his voice fell to pieces as one of Sam's big hands wrapped around his own cock and he slowly started jacking himself, eyes locked on Dean. It was a thousand times hotter than any porno he'd ever seen – his own personal wet dream come to life - and his dick was screaming against the tight confines of his jeans.

  
"I know you want it, Dean," Sam's voice was back to smoky deep, but there was more than a hint of breathlessness to it too, "I've seen it in your eyes when you think about it, watched you pull back. I've tried, I've wanted, God fuck, I've wanted -" Whatever it was Sam wanted Dean couldn't have heard even if his brother hadn't lost himself in the stroke of his fingers because Dean's blood was pounding so loud he was sure his eardrums were going to burst.

  
That invisible pressure was undoing the button on his jeans, sliding down the zipper torturously slow and Dean had forgotten all about trying to fight against it, now he just wanted it to hurry the fuck up and get him free before he creamed his pants like a goddamn kid from watching Sam.

  
Sam reached up, swiping a finger over the slick mess on his swollen cockhead then slowly brought it to his own lips, sucking on the digit like it was all that was keeping him alive. Thank God, thank fucking God, the denim was peeling down Dean's thighs, dragging his briefs right along with it and Dean's ridiculously hard cock was free. It met his belly with a wet slap and he would swear on his life he had never been that hard before; all of the blood in his body converging on that one spot to try and make him go insane.

  
"Wanna taste you, Dean," Sam moaned, finally returning his hand to his own dick, eyes roaming Dean's body like a starving man. Dean moaned right along with him and he was back to fighting against Sam's powers because he needed to get over on that bed right the fuck now or he was going to spontaneously combust.

  
The next second he was so fucking thankful for the hold keeping him against the wall because without it he'd be face down on the floor, knees buckled from the perfect sweeping glide along his pleading cock. The rhythm on his dick matched the one Sam was jacking himself with and damn if that didn't make the room get 50 degrees hotter. There wasn't enough air in the state to feed Dean's hungry lungs, the flame that was coursing through his veins taking over every part of him until it was too hot to even be hot, until it was nothing but raw, electric sensation lighting him up like a Christmas tree.

  
He was panting out a desperate stream of obscenities and prayers and nonsense and it didn't matter what the fuck he said because it seemed to be working for Sam. That big hand was pumping harder on that long, sweet dick Dean was dying to get a feel of and the pressure on his own was matching it stroke for stroke. His eyes kept trying to slide closed from the intensity of it burning through him, but he forced them to stay open, to not miss a second of it as Sam twitched and tossed, writhing just for him.

  
Long fingers slid down over Sam's tight sac, hips canted forward so Dean could see the hidden pucker as those fingers brushed over it, made the muscle clench and jump. And fuck, he felt it too, the teasing pressure against his own hole and he wasn't going to make it, couldn't take it.

  
His eyes pasted themselves to the back of his skull and he could hear himself keening because he was fucking missing it! Sam was shouting hoarsely somewhere just feet away, covering himself in white hot streams of come and Dean couldn't see it but he'd imagined it a million times and that's all he needed to crash right into the wall too.

  
Orgasm hit him like a sucker punch to the gut, knocking loose all of the hard-won breath he had as ropes of sticky come shot across his stomach and chest, hitting him in the chin because he was coming harder than any human being in history, ever.

  
He came down still pinned to the wall, body gone liquid with only Sam's power keeping him upright. He was panting for breath, his entire body feeling utterly used and worn out, burnt away and maybe even cleansed as the pressure slowly lowered him to the ground.

  
Dean had enough strength to keep himself on hands and knees and fucking crawl - only for Sam - that last foot and a half to where Sammy lay limply on the end of the bed. His little brother didn't look any better off than Dean felt as he forced himself to slide up the length of Sam's body, their cooling fluid mixing together on their skin, and cradle his head against his brother's neck.

  
"Where the fuck did that come from?" he muttered sleepily into Sam's throat, kissing at the rapid-fire pulse beneath the thin skin.

  
"I'll tell you when my brain cells grow back," Sam promised, laying a scorching hot hand between Dean's shoulder blades, playing over the scarred skin with his fingertips.

  
"Sounds fair," Dean agreed. His tongue had found a slick of Sam's come, still body warm, and he was lazily reveling in the taste. Talking could wait; he'd never been much for it anyway.


End file.
